Burnt Sienna

1

The hypnotic clack-clack-clack of the train’s wheels reinforced Malone’s exhaustion. He and Sienna slumped next to each other in a locked compartment, barely noticing the lights of towns that flashed past. It was almost midnight. They had boarded the train an hour earlier at Washington, D.C.’s Union Station, where they had driven after Malone had followed his first impulse and stolen a car from the front of the burning house while Laster and his men searched the woods. Hoping to conceal his trail, Malone had left the car in a restaurant’s parking lot and taken a taxi to the train station. There, he had used the credit card in the dead man’s wallet to buy two tickets to Dallas. Despite the rain, the burned house wouldn’t have cooled enough for Laster’s men to search it. They wouldn’t find the body for quite a while. Even then, there was a good chance the fire had so charred the corpse’s clothes that no one would realize the wallet was missing. When the credit-card charges persisted after the man’s death, Laster would understand what had happened, but by then it would be too late. Meanwhile, Malone and Sienna were together. That was all he cared about.

“Hungry?”

Sienna looked at the bag of sandwiches they’d bought. She shook her head no. “Tell me what we’re going to do.”

“It depends on your expectations. We’re not going to be able to live the way you did on your husband’s estate.”

“I wouldn’t want to.”

“I don’t mean the tension you went through. I’m talking about the absence of luxury. I’ve got plenty of money in various places, but I can’t think of a way to get to it without letting your husband or the CIA know where we are. They’ll have computer experts watching for any transactions in my accounts. The instant I order a wire transfer – to a bank in Dallas, say – they’ll be after us. The airport, the train station, the car-rental agencies – they’ll all be watched.”

“You make it sound hopeless.”

Even in her damp, rumpled blazer, her hair combed with her hands, Sienna somehow managed to look more beautiful than ever. How do I hide one of the most striking women in the world? he thought. “I promise, there is a way out of this, but it’s going to be a lot less first-class than you’re used to.”

“Is that why we’re going to Dallas?”

“We’re not going there.”

“But our tickets -”

“We’re getting off before then. At a town called Braddock.”

“In case Derek finds out we took the train and he’s waiting for us in Dallas?”

Malone nodded. “And because there’s someone I have to meet in Braddock.”

2

The Texas sky was cobalt blue as they stepped from the train and studied the small depot and waiting area. Beyond were low buildings: a gas station next to a car-repair shop, a hardware store next to a bar. A few trucks moved along the street. Otherwise, the town seemed deserted.

“A place this small, it’s a wonder it has its own train station,” Sienna said.

“Clint’s got the influence to make sure he gets what he wants.”

“You’re telling me people other than actors actually have names like Clint?”

“Chase, ol’ pal, it’s been too damn long,” a man’s voice said in the deepest, twangiest drawl Sienna had ever heard.

She turned toward the open door to the waiting room, from which a man in cowboy boots, jeans with a belt buckle shaped like a saddle, a denim shirt, a leather vest, and a cowboy hat stepped grinning into view, embracing Malone, slapping his back.

“Why didn’t you let me send the jet to pick you up?” the man asked. “And how come you phoned collect? All the money I paid you over the years, you can’t be short of cash.”

“Sort of.”

The man looked puzzled.

“A long story.”

“Well, I hope you’ll be stayin’ long enough for me to hear it.” Still smiling, the man turned expectantly toward Sienna. “And what a lovely lady you’ve brought along.”

“Clint, this is my friend Beatrice. Beatrice, I want you to meet Clint Braddock.”

“I’m one of Chase’s biggest fans.” Braddock’s smile was even broader.

Sienna was tall enough that she wasn’t used to looking up at most men, but for Braddock, she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. His cowboy hat made him seem even taller. He had grainy tan skin and a bushy salt-and-pepper Zapata-style mustache.

“Clint, you did what I asked, right?” Malone’s tone was serious. “You didn’t tell anybody about my phone call. You didn’t let anybody know I was coming.”

“Hey, this is me, compadre, remember? When have I ever let you down? You’re the man. What you say goes.”

Malone visibly relaxed.

“But what’s goin’ on? When I offered to send the jet, you said you couldn’t go near an airport. I couldn’t help wonderin’ if you’re in trouble.”

“You’re not far wrong. Where’s your car? I don’t want to stand around in the open.”

“Around the corner, pard. Where’re your bags?”

“We don’t have any.”

The wrinkles around Braddock’s eyes deepened. “Yeah, you’re in trouble all right.”

At the side of the depot, they reached an almost empty gravel parking lot, the prominent vehicle in which was a gleaming red pickup truck with fence posts in the back. As Braddock got in the driver’s side, Malone guided Sienna toward the passenger door, whispering to her, “Don’t let the drawl and the getup fool you. Clint’s real first name is Peter. He was born and raised in Philadelphia.”

“What?”

They got into the truck. “Clint, I was just explaining to my friend that you saw a lot of Westerns when you were a kid.”

“And grew up to earn the bucks to live ’em.” Braddock smiled. “See a movie, be a movie.”

3

Bucks is right, Sienna thought, watching the grassland stretch away. Every mile or so, a shade tree punctuated the view, but otherwise, there was only sky and land. And cattle, plenty of cattle. And then an oil pump, then another, and another, until hundreds cluttered the landscape, their armatures bobbing up and down. Braddock had been driving for a half hour before they got to a sprawling two-and-a-half-story white house. With a porch that went along almost the entire front, it made Sienna think she’d seen it before.

Then she realized she had.

“Recognize it?” Braddock asked.

“Wasn’t this in that James Dean movie, Giant?” she asked in amazement.

“Sort of,” Braddock said. “The real house is south of here on somebody else’s spread. It’s not even a real house. It’s just a shell they built for exteriors and then let fall apart when they were done with the movie. So I had this replica built.”

They drove through an arched entrance that had the word RIATA written across it, the same name as the ranch in Giant.

“With all your interest in the West,” Malone said, “I never understood why you collected me instead of Remington or another western painter.”

“Variety.”

“And all the time I thought it was my genius.”

“I didn’t want you to get a swelled head.” Braddock chuckled. “The truth is, little lady, the first time I saw Chase’s work, I knew I had to own it.”

Sienna understood after they parked on the curved driveway in front of the house, then crossed the lawn and the echoing porch to go inside. Braddock stayed outside to give instructions to one of his ranch hands, then joined them, enjoying the way Sienna admired the paintings on the walls.

There were at least twenty, all landscapes, all vibrant with color. She saw Chase’s signature on the bottom of several and turned toward him in surprise. “How many of these are yours?”

Braddock answered for him. “All of them. I’ve got some in the dining room, too. How come you’re surprised?”

“It’s just… well, the only work of Chase’s I’ve seen was a portrait of me. And some sketches of me and…” She looked at him in amazement. “I had no idea what your real work was like.”

“The portrait of you was the best thing I’ve ever done,” Chase said.

Braddock straightened. “Is it for sale?”

“I’m afraid that can’t be arranged.”

“Money’s no object.”

“It isn’t with the man who owns it, either. Plus, there are” – Malone hesitated – “personal reasons for him to want to keep it.”

“I’ve never seen paintings that make me feel so many other senses. I can almost smell the dew on the grass,” Sienna said.

“You should have been an art critic.”

“Don’t joke.”

“He’s not,” Braddock said. “You got the point right off. Chase’s paintings celebrate life. You’d be a better art critic than those SOBs who don’t know pretension from piss.”

Sienna laughed.

“The two of you had breakfast?” Braddock asked.

“No.”

“Why don’t I tell the cook to fix you somethin’.” Sienna’s stomach rumbled. She laughed again.

“But I warn you,” Braddock said. “My cook’s not one of those namby-pambies who worries all day about how much cholesterol’s in his menus. He’ll give you good honest bacon and eggs, hash browns and pancakes, or a breakfast burrito with salsa and refried beans.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Sienna said.

“Meantime, the biggest guest bedroom’s to the left at the top of the stairs. The two of you go get yourselves cleaned up. The closet has extra clothes in various sizes. I like to keep spares for my guests. I’m bettin’ you’ll find this or that to fit you.”

“Thanks,” Sienna said.

“Then we’ll get down to business” – Braddock directed his gaze firmly at Chase – “and find out what kind of trouble you’re in.”

4

Sienna bit into a chunk of burrito stuffed with eggs, rice, beans, and sausage. “Great. Especially the sausage. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“Chorizo. It’s Mexican,” Braddock said. “Not too hot for you?”

“I can’t get enough of it.” She spooned more green chili over the burrito.

“Yeah, you’ve got fiery skin. A lady after my own heart.”

Malone raised his spoon from a bowl of refried beans topped with red chili and melted cheese. “What I need,” he said, “is a patron.”

Braddock set down his coffee and waited for him to continue.

“Somebody to subsidize me.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Somebody to buy my paintings in advance.”

Braddock narrowed his grizzled eyebrows. “You need cash that bad?”

“Things are a little tight.”

“After everything I bought from you?” Braddock pointed toward the dining room wall across from him, where there were three other of Malone’s paintings. “Over the years, I must’ve paid – what, six million? What on God’s earth did you do with the money?”

“I still have it, but I can’t get to it. As soon as I try, someone who’s looking for us will know where we are.”

Braddock squinted at Sienna, then back at Malone. “Somebody like a husband?”

Malone spread his hands.

Braddock’s bushy eyebrows narrowed more severely. Then his head started to bob. He laughed. “Shoot, boy, why didn’t you just say so? Twenty years ago, I had a situation along husband lines myself. I always had a suspicion you and I were alike. You want some travelin’-around money while he cools off, is that what you’re askin’?”

“Maybe more than just traveling-around money. He’s not going to cool off for quite a while. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever going to cool off.”

Braddock studied Sienna for several seconds, then nodded pensively. “Yeah, I can see why. This husband – you can’t use offshore accounts to dodge him?”

“I wouldn’t dare try,” Malone said, “and I’d never risk getting a friend to do it for me.”

“But isn’t that what you’re doin’ right now, askin’ a friend?”

“To pay me in advance for paintings I’ll deliver.”

“Assumin’ you live to complete ’em,” Braddock said.

Sienna felt the color drain from her face.

“It’s that serious, right?” Braddock asked. “Your husband’s a player.”

“Yes.”

“Who doesn’t believe in rules.”

“Yes.”

Braddock thought a moment, then whistled to himself, low and pensively. “How much do you need?”

“A million dollars.”

Braddock didn’t even blink.

“In cash. Hundreds,” Malone said.

“Exactly what am I gonna get for this lavish amount?” “Ten paintings.”

“Ten.”

“That’s a hundred thousand apiece.”

“I never paid less than two hundred thousand for any of your work.”

“Call it a fire sale.”

“If word gets around, if you do this with any of your other collectors, you’ll drive down the market.”

“You’re the only one I approached,” Malone said. “The only one I’ll ever approach.”

“Where do you figure to hide?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Braddock thought about it. “You’re right. And you don’t want me to know, either. In case somebody comes around.”

Sienna broke her silence. “How can we be sure someone won’t?” She looked at Malone. “One of your biggest collectors. Isn’t it logical that my husband will make the connection and wonder if we asked for help?”

“Nobody knows I’m one of Chase’s biggest collectors,” Braddock said. “One of the reasons I’m successful is, I don’t let people know my business.”

“Then you’ll do it?” Malone asked.

Braddock thought about it. “With a condition.”

“Name it.”

“One of the works has to be of…” Braddock looked at Sienna. “I assume your real name isn’t Beatrice.”

“No.” She sounded apologetic.

“I’d like one of the paintings to be of you.”

“Don’t worry.” Malone smiled. “In a way, she is Beatrice. From now on, I’ll be doing a lot of paintings of her.”

5

“Thank you.” Sienna kissed Braddock’s cheek.

It was ten the next morning. The sky was bright. The breeze smelled fresh. Malone, Sienna, and Braddock stood on the front porch.

He rubbed his skin where she’d kissed him, then blushed. “Shoot, that’s almost fair-enough payment for what I gave you.”

Malone held the money in a brown suitcase that Braddock had supplied. Ten thousand one-hundred-dollar bills took up less room than Malone had expected – and weighed less: only about twenty pounds. To fill out the suitcase, Braddock had added some denim shirts and jeans in Malone’s size. Sienna’s suitcase contained similar basic articles of clothing.

“As soon as we settle somewhere, I’ll get to work,” Malone said. “In a month or two, you’ll start receiving paintings.”

“No rush. Whenever inspiration strikes.”

“I’ve got plenty of that.” Malone smiled at Sienna. “By the way, Clint, wherever I ship the paintings from won’t be where we’re staying.”

“I figured. I’m also figurin’ I won’t see you for a while.”

Malone shrugged.

“Maybe a long while.”

Malone looked away.

“Be careful, my friend,” Braddock said.

“Believe me, I’m going to try.”

A silent moment lengthened.

“I guess we’d better get moving,” Malone finally said. His mouth was dry from emotion. He shook hands with Braddock – firmly.

As he and Sienna got into the car, his chest ached with the regret of severing this connection. It’s a good thing I don’t have close family, he thought. I’d need to sever those connections, too.

Then he realized he was wrong – he did have close family. He studied Sienna as she got into the car, wishing he had the time to sketch how she looked this morning. It wasn’t just that the white blouse Braddock had found for her brought out the quality of her skin and the luster in her hair. It was something deeper, something that he knew he would never stop wanting to draw.

6

The car was an eight-year-old Ford Explorer that Braddock had bought from one of his ranch hands for more money than the man had ever seen at one time in his life. It had a dented front fender and spewed foul black smoke, but it would get them where they needed to go.

The wallet Malone had taken from the dead man contained ID for Dale Perry. In Abilene, Malone used it to get a Texas driver’s license in Perry’s name. He registered the Explorer in Perry’s name.

They headed west.

7

Yuma, Arizona. Malone had been there twelve years earlier on a military training exercise at the Marine Corps Air Station on the edge of town. During the summer, the city was small, about fifty thousand people, but during the winter, the population doubled, the area’s sunny climate and the Colorado River attracting snowbirds from the north, most of whom stayed in trailer parks. At the end of March, the city was still booming.

Malone and Sienna rented a self-storage unit and stuffed it with old tables and bureaus, the furniture in such poor condition that anyone who broke in would curse and go on to other targets. In back was an old chest, in which Malone hid the suitcase containing the million dollars.

He locked the pull-down metal door, gave Sienna one key, and pocketed the other. With the twenty thousand dollars they kept, they went to various banks, avoiding attention by never exchanging more than two thousand at any one place. Where they were going, twenty thousand in pesos would last them quite a while.

They loaded up on things they might need, then headed south, reaching the Mexican border in forty minutes. The crossing was at a city called San Luis, where the Mexican guards barely looked at the Explorer. It was the same casual attitude Malone recalled from when he had crossed the border years earlier while on leave from military exercises in Yuma. Normally, visitors driving a vehicle into Mexico needed a tourist card and a temporary vehicle import permit, but Malone’s destination was part of an area called the Sonoran Free Trade Zone, and such documents weren’t necessary. The length of visits was unrestricted. Even if these guards had decided to stop and search the Explorer, Malone wouldn’t have cared. He had nothing incriminating. The handgun he had taken from Dale Perry’s body was down a sewer in Yuma.

The city gave way to small farms. Then the farms became sporadic until there was only sand and tufts of grass.

“Smell it?” Malone asked.

“What?”

The Gulf of California separated mainland Mexico from its western peninsula, Baja California. In his youth, Malone had been surprised to learn how close the Pacific Ocean was to southern Arizona – less than two hours away – and had never forgotten driving down to it.

“The moist air. The salt smell. We ought to have a glimpse of the sea over the next rise.”

Instead, they faced a military roadblock.

Sienna tensed.

“Take it easy,” Malone said. “They’re looking for drugs smuggled in by boat. They’re interested in vehicles coming from the sea, not toward it.”

Each side of the barricade had three armed soldiers. On the opposite side of the road, a battered pickup truck was being searched. The officer in charge, a mustached, lean-faced captain, watched from behind mirrored sunglasses.

Sienna wore sunglasses also. A droopy straw hat. No makeup. She’d done everything practical to conceal her features without being conspicuous about it. Nonetheless, Malone worried that the guards would sense how attractive she was and want to take a look. His worry turned out to be groundless. The soldiers were so interested in what was going on with the pickup truck that they waved him on.

Looking in the rearview mirror, Malone saw the captain watching the Explorer drive away.

“There,” he told Sienna. “No problem.”

8

“I see it!” Sienna pointed to the right, where a distant sheet of blue glinted from reflected sunlight.

The road paralleled the water, gradually narrowing the space between. In a couple of miles, buildings appeared, then palm trees, the outskirts of a town. Malone drove past a convenience store and a car-repair shop. A sand-colored two-story house had a red-tiled roof. The house beside it was made from cinder blocks. Next came a refuse-littered lot, and after that, a shack. That was the pattern: expensive houses next to poor ones in a seaside community that didn’t have the pretensions of a beach resort. Farther into town, the pavement ended, the wide road turning to sand. On the right was an open square with benches underneath shade trees, flanked by a police station and a small grocery store. On the left, past a chain-link fence, was a row of one-room school buildings, each well maintained, the grounds immaculate, as were the children playing at recess.

“This is Santa Clara,” Malone said. “It’s a fishing village that got discovered by Americans with motor homes who were looking for a place to take cheap vacations. So many Americans come and go down here, we won’t look out of place. In fact, as long as we stay to ourselves and contribute to the local economy, we’ll be welcome.”

“Staying to ourselves is definitely what I want to do.”

A few streets veered to the left, but most led to the right toward palm trees and clapboard bars and restaurants along the sea. Malone ignored these turnoffs, driving straight ahead, passing a row of RV parks, finally stopping when there were no further buildings, only sand. And the sea.

“This is the end of the road,” he said.

“So we’re going to drive back to town and find a place to stay?” Sienna asked.

“Not exactly. Why don’t we get out and stretch our legs.”

Baffled, Sienna followed him across the sand until they reached where the waves lapped at their shoes. Seagulls glided overhead. In the distance, the specks of low motorized fishing boats bobbed in the water. The sun was hot, the sky as blue as the sea.

Malone savored the salt smell. “God, I love living near water.” For a moment, he was reminded of what Bellasar had done to his home on Cozumel.

He calmed himself. “Up this far, near the tip of the gulf, we’re close to Baja California. If you look real hard, you can see the opposite shore. It’s kind of hazy today, but you should be able to see the rocky cliffs. They’re about five miles away. Farther south, the gulf’s a lot wider – as much as a hundred miles.”

Malone pivoted to study the northern shoreline, where pickup trucks hooked cables to fishing boats and pulled them onto the sand. “The town’s bigger than when I was here twelve years ago. Two of those RV parks weren’t here, or that restaurant with the outdoor dining area. But that’s to be expected.”

What he hadn’t expected was that the seaside part of town would look run-down. Sun shelters made of poles supporting palm fronds had toppled, as had a concrete retaining wall. Chain-link fences leaned. Carports had collapsed. What on earth had happened? Then he realized. “They had a hurricane last year. I remember how powerful the newspapers said it was. They’re still digging out from the wreckage. I imagine it’ll take a while.”

But Sienna didn’t look anywhere he pointed. She just stared at him. “What do you mean we’re not going back into town to find a place to stay?”

“We’re going somewhere else.”

“Didn’t you say this was the end of the road?”

“Yes.”

“Then…”

Malone hesitated. He’d prepared her for everything except this. “We agreed that the only way to get away from your husband and Laster is to go to the end of the earth and pull the edges in after us.”

She nodded.

“Down here, American drifters are part of the economy. If somebody wonders where you came from, you can tell whatever lie you want, and nobody’ll think twice or be the wiser. The locals don’t care where your money comes from, and they don’t ask for Social Security numbers. But just to be extra safe…” Malone turned toward the southern shore and the widening gulf. “I wonder if there isn’t an even better edge of the world. When I was here the last time, a villager was renting out dune buggies. One of my buddies and I drove along this shore. There’s nothing for fifteen miles. Then just before the beach runs out, there’s a fishing camp.”

“You mean a village.”

“Smaller. Maybe a dozen trailers. It’s simple. The scenery’s spectacular. The people who live there are loners. There’ll be no one to account to or to bother us.”

For a moment, the only sound was the distant drone of a motorboat.

“That’s where you’d like to go?” Sienna asked.

Malone couldn’t decide if her tone was dismay. “It’s as perfect a place to disappear as I can think of. Then we’ll figure out our next move.”

She seemed lost.

“It’s not forever. A man in your husband’s line of work, there’s a good chance the authorities or one of his competitors will get to him. We just have to survive long enough for that to happen.”

“Surviving is Derek’s specialty.”

A sober moment lengthened. Sienna looked at him. Looked at the sea. Looked east past the sand dunes. “What’s on that hill?”

“A lighthouse. The locals told me it was abandoned.”

“Can we climb to it?”

“Of course, but it’ll take us the rest of the day to get there and back.”

“Not today.”

It was Malone’s turn to look puzzled.

“Later,” she said. “After we get settled.”

“… You’re willing to stay?”

“My life’s been too complicated for a very long time. I kept telling myself I had to simplify.” She took his hand.

“It won’t be like we’re hermits.” Malone squeezed her fingers. “If we want some nightlife, we can go into town. The last time I was here, the restaurants were good. The town has fiestas. People do come here for vacations, after all. Let’s try it. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll find somewhere else.”

9

The four-wheel-drive Explorer had no trouble on the hard-packed sand. With the windows open and the breeze ruffling her hair, Sienna smiled as they drove along the unmarked beach. “I feel like we’re the first ones to do this.”

“Lewis and Clark.”

She chuckled. “Captain Kirk. ‘Where no one has gone before.’”

To keep the tires from digging into the sand, they didn’t drive faster than twenty miles an hour. The slow, smooth, almost hypnotic ride took forty minutes before they came around a final dune and stopped where a rocky outcrop blocked the way farther south.

The camp didn’t look the way Malone remembered it. The dozen or so trailers he had seen twelve years earlier had been reduced to two, one of which was tilted, partially buried by sand. The other had an awning extending from it. A fishing net hung on a wall, faded shorts, jeans, and other laundry dangling from it. In front, a char-filled fire pit was surrounded by blackened rocks. A motorboat had been hauled up onto the beach. A sun-wizened Mexican man worked on its engine while two children stopped scampering in the waves and looked warily toward Malone and Sienna as they got out of the Explorer. A pensive woman appeared in the trailer’s doorway, assessing the new arrivals.

Malone gestured reassuringly to her and walked with Sienna to the motorboat.

The man’s face was so sun-creased, he might have been anywhere from forty to sixty. His hands were gnarled from years of working with fishing lines. The logo on his baseball hat had faded so much, it was impossible to read.

In Spanish, Malone introduced themselves as Dale and Beatrice Perry. He offered his hand.

The man looked suspiciously at it, then shook it, his calluses palpable. His name was Fernando, he said.

“The last time I came here, twelve years ago, there were more people,” Malone said. “What happened?”

Malone listened, then told Sienna, “He says the hurricane last summer was very bad. The Americans with trailers got away before it arrived. They never came back. It killed one fisherman and scared the others enough to leave. They never came back, either. The hurricane season will soon start again. The other fishermen don’t want to be around when it does.”

“So we’ve pretty much got the place to ourselves?”

“Yes, better than we hoped.” Malone turned toward Fernando. “My wife and I were thinking about camping here for a while. Would you object?”

Fernando seemed pleased that Malone had used usted, the formal word for “you.” People could come and go as they liked, he said.

“But we want to be good neighbors. Maybe you could use some help with the boat. Maybe we could contribute something in exchange for being here.” Malone reached into his shirt pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes. Although he didn’t smoke, he knew they could be handy as gifts.

As Fernando smoked one, they discussed the weather, the boat, and other seemingly casual subjects.

When Fernando finished the cigarette, he pinched off the end and pocketed the remnant of tobacco. Pointing toward the tilted trailer partially buried in the sand, he explained something.

“What did he tell you?” Sienna asked.

“That the trailer isn’t as damaged as it looks. He says that with the four-wheel-drive vehicle we have, we can pull the trailer upright, repair it, and live in it.”

“Gracias,” she told Fernando.

10

It was as near to paradise as Malone had ever come: swimming, sailing, fishing, hiking, or merely lying in a hammock, reading. But most of all, it was painting, trying to capture something in Sienna’s eyes that had become his single goal to depict.

Beatrice indeed.

Sometimes, Fernando’s ten-year-old boy came over and looked spellbound at Malone’s images of her.

“Would you like to learn to do this?”

The boy nodded solemnly. One lesson turned into several. The boy went around with a sketch pad, drawing everything he saw, as if he’d discovered magic.

At night, as Malone and Sienna lay in bed together, she whispered, “You have a way with children.”

“With one child, anyhow,” he joked.

“Be serious. It’s a nice thing you’re doing.”

“Well, he’s a good kid.”

“But what you’re teaching him isn’t simple. You know how to get a child to listen. You’d make a good father.”

“Make a… Wait a minute. Are you telling me you want to have a child?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“With all the trouble we’re in…”

“I didn’t say right now. But if we weren’t in trouble, how would you feel about…”

“Having a child with you?”

“Yes.”

“If it would make you happy.”

“Happier.”

In the night, they held each other, not doing anything else, just holding.

11

At his table on the château’s terrace, his coffee and croissant untasted, Potter listened to the roar of the machine gun. His face felt tight. His eyes were gritty. To be expected. After all, the machine gun had wakened him before dawn, as it had on the previous morning and the morning before that. On occasion, it was interrupted by explosions and handgun fire, but mostly it was the machine gun. All day. Every day. Potter’s nerves weren’t the only ones affected. The guards looked on edge, interrupting their patrols to stare toward the shooting range and frown at one another.

Potter didn’t understand how Derek’s body, his hands, arms, and shoulders, could withstand the relentless punishment he subjected them to. The machine gun itself couldn’t sustain it. Derek had already broken one tripod, destroyed two feeding mechanisms, and burned out a dozen barrels. In contrast, Derek’s body showed no signs of wearing down, his fury so great that only if he didn’t vent it would he suffer physically.

Derek’s emotions were another matter. Potter had never seen him so distraught. From the day Sienna had escaped with Malone, Derek had been unable to concentrate on anything except revenge. Important business matters went unattended. He haunted the weapons-testing range, firing every weapon he could get his hands on, reducing the mock village to rubble, ordering his men to rebuild it, then reducing it to rubble again, not a wall or a house remaining. When overuse broke the weapons, he screamed at his engineers to design them better and to bring him others to test. When he tired of firearms, he changed to grenades and rocket launchers, the enraged expression on his face demonstrating the schemes of revenge he imagined.

Potter finally couldn’t bear it. He rose from the table and made his way along a path to the testing range. He saw Derek bent over the machine gun, cursing as he yanked at its firing mechanism but couldn’t get it to eject a jammed shell. Derek wore earplugs, so he didn’t know Potter was in the area until Potter stepped in front of him.

Rage swelled Derek’s body, giving him an even more imposing presence than usual. His huge eyes were dark with fury. “Have you found them?”

“No. We’re still looking. You have to stop this, Derek. You’re due in Miami tomorrow.”

“Find them, damn it!” Derek freed the jammed cartridge and fired at a mannequin that moved along a track, blowing it to pieces. “Find them!”

12

The restaurant was called El Delfin – the Dolphin. It was a couple of blocks from the beach, on a sandy street: a dingy one-story building with an orange shingled roof and an air conditioner braced in a window. An utterly unassuming place, with the exception that it served the best food in Santa Clara.

At dusk, Malone and Sienna opened the restaurant’s screen door and stepped onto the faded linoleum floor. For a moment, all the tables seemed occupied. Then Malone noticed an empty one in back on the right-hand side. He noticed something else: a Mexican military captain talking with three male civilians. The captain had a lean, sallow, mustached face that reminded Malone of a hawk. He had a pair of mirrored sunglasses, folded, hanging from a shirt pocket by one of the bows.

“Behind you,” Sienna said as she and Malone sat across from each other.

“Yes,” Malone said. “The officer from the roadblock. No big deal. Everybody’s got to eat.”

When the waitress came, they each ordered a beer, then studied the wrinkled single-sheet menu.

Malone reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Hungry?”

“Famished. This shrimp dish sounds good.”

“I recommend it,” a voice said.

They turned.

The captain stood next to their table.

“Then I’ll have it,” Malone said.

“Captain Ramirez.” The man smiled pleasantly as he held out his hand.

Malone shook it. “Dale Perry.”

“Beatrice Perry.” Sienna shook his hand.

“A pleasure.”

Malone noticed that Ramirez looked to see if she wore a wedding ring. They had bought two before they left Yuma.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I like to say hello to our visitors from the United States. It gives me a chance to practice my English.”

“Which is very good.”

Ramirez made a modest gesture.

“Would you care to join us?” Malone asked.

“Perhaps for a minute or two. Una otra cerveza,” Ramirez told the waitress, then pulled out a chair and sat next to Malone. “Are you enjoying your visit?”

“Very much.”

“You don’t find it a little hot this time of year? Most of your countrymen have left by now.”

“Actually, we like it hot,” Malone said.

“You must have fire in your blood.”

“Only when I was a teenager.”

“Yes, to be a teenager again.” Ramirez chuckled. “Mrs. Perry, most of the Americans who come down here are retired. It’s rare to see a woman from the north who’s so young.” He paused. “And so beautiful.”

She looked uncomfortable. “Thank you.”

“You’re obviously too young to have retired. Perhaps you won the lottery.”

“Don’t we wish. Dale was a commercial artist in Abilene, Texas.” The practiced story accounted for their Texas car plate and driver’s license. “But a couple of months ago, the company went out of business.”

“Unfortunate,” Ramirez said.

“Dale always wanted to be a painter. When the company folded, I told him it was God’s way of urging him to follow his heart. We took our life savings and drove across the Southwest, stopping when Dale saw something he wanted to paint. Eventually we headed down here.”

“You’re an understanding woman – to go along with your husband’s dreams.”

“All I want is what makes him happy.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“What?”

“Make him happy.”

The waitress brought the beers.

As Ramirez picked his up, an anxious soldier entered the restaurant and motioned for Ramirez to step outside.

Ramirez nodded, then turned to Sienna. “As you can see, I must leave.”

“Nice chatting with you,” Malone said.

But Ramirez kept his eyes totally on Sienna. “The pleasure was mine. Nos vemos.”

As Ramirez walked to the door, Sienna asked, “What did he just say?”

“‘We’ll see each other.’”

The screen door banged shut behind Ramirez and the soldier.

Everybody in the place had been watching the conversation. Now they went back to their meals.

Sienna leaned close to Malone, pretending to murmur endearments. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“All the while he was sitting there, I was sure I was going to throw up.” A film of sweat slicked her face. “Did it show? What the hell was he doing?” She kept her voice down, afraid she’d be overheard.

“I have no idea.” Doing his best to look relaxed, Malone took a long swallow of beer and wished it were stronger.

“At least, he didn’t ask to see your ID.”

“Which means he can’t have been that interested in us. Maybe he just felt like jerking some gringos’ chains. But he certainly had a lot of questions. He knows almost as much as if he had looked at my ID.”

“You’re not reassuring me,” Sienna said.

“I’m not reassuring myself.”

“I’m not kidding. I’m sick. Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t.”

“What?”

“Suppose he sees us come out. He’ll wonder why he upset us so much that we didn’t stay for dinner.”

“Jesus.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Malone said.

When the waitress returned, they ordered the shrimp. Malone gave Sienna credit. She did what was necessary and ate what was on her plate. On the way back to the trailer, she had to get out and throw up.

13

She didn’t sleep. Lying in the darkness, she stared at the ceiling and hoped that the lapping of the waves would soothe her, but the calm they usually gave wouldn’t come. Maybe Ramirez was just practicing his English, she tried to assure herself. The area depends on tourism, after all. Why would he bother two of the few visitors still remaining in town? It doesn’t make sense. He was just being friendly.

Sure, she thought.

But she couldn’t shake the apprehension that what had happened at the restaurant was the same as what had happened at every fashion show and modeling assignment she’d ever been a part of, at every party, at every… It didn’t matter that she hadn’t worn makeup, that she hadn’t taken off her hat, and that she had kept her gaze downward. Ramirez had come over to their table because of her looks.

“We have to get out of here,” she told Chase in the morning. The haggardness around her eyes showed how little she’d slept, yet she didn’t look as plain as she wanted to be.

Outside, as they loaded the Explorer, the sound of an approaching engine made her turn. At first, she thought it was a motorboat. But as she scanned the waves, movement farther along caught her attention. Not on the water – on the shore. A military Jeep. Its top was down, showing that the only person in it was the driver. Her muscles compacted when she saw twin glints of light reflecting off mirrored sunglasses.

14

As Ramirez parked next to the trailer, Fernando’s wife urged her children into their trailer. Her panicked reaction gave Ramirez a look of satisfaction as he got out of his vehicle and straightened his sunglasses. His uniform was pressed stiffly, emphasizing his taut stomach and rigid back. His pistol was prominent on his right side. Unsmiling, he approached the trailer. “Good morning.”

“Buenos dias,” Malone said, trying to sound friendly.

“Please, in English.” The contrast between Ramirez’s polite words and his stern expression was vivid. “I so enjoyed our conversation yesterday evening that I regretted having to leave. I decided to pay you a visit.”

Malone spread his hands in a welcoming gesture.

“You weren’t easy to find.” Ramirez concentrated on Sienna.

Malone imagined the effect she had on him. Without the hat she had worn in the restaurant, her beauty was striking. Despite her restless sleep, her skin had a smoldering quality.

“You so impressed me with the sacrifice you’re willing to make for your husband’s artistic career, I thought I’d come and see his paintings,” Ramirez said.

“They’re not as good as I’d like,” Malone said, “but -”

“Nonsense. I’m sure you’re being too critical.” Ramirez turned toward a canvas leaning against the Explorer, where Malone had been about to load it. “Getting ready to leave?”

“A day trip up the coast. There’s an area I want to paint.”

“But you said you did landscapes. This is a painting of your wife.”

“Every once in a while, I do one of her.”

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” From the curve of Sienna’s hips, waist, and breasts in the portrait, he turned toward the real thing. “I’m surprised you don’t live in town, Mrs. Perry. Aren’t you lonely down here?”

“Dale says he doesn’t want to be distracted.”

“I should think you would distract him.”

“We enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“And to tell the truth,” Malone said, “we’re trying to save money. In Santa Clara, we’d have to pay rent.”

Ramirez kept his attention on Sienna. “What do you do for amusement, Mrs. Perry?”

She looked more puzzled. “Swim. Read. Go sailing.”

“And that’s enough?”

“In Abilene, we were always worried about Dale’s job. Then the worst happened, and we didn’t have to worry anymore. A simple life has been very satisfying.”

“To make up for my early departure last evening, I’d like you to be my guest for dinner.”

“Certainly. Dale and I would be honored.”

“Actually, the invitation was only for…” Ramirez aimed his mirrored sunglasses at Malone. “May I see your tourist card?”

“Tourist card?” Malone looked baffled. “But we don’t need one here. Santa Clara’s part of the Sonoran Free Trade Zone.”

“That’s correct. But this isn’t Santa Clara. You don’t live in the Free Trade Zone. Your tourist card, please.” Ramirez held out his hand.

“We don’t have one.”

“That presents a problem,” Ramirez said.

“It certainly does. We’d better drive back to the border and pick one up.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But you just said -”

“I have business at the border. I’ll obtain a tourist card for you.”

Malone frowned. “But don’t they have to be picked up in person?”

“I’ll see that an exception is made.”

“That’s very generous.”

“Not at all.” Ramirez stared again at Sienna. “It’ll give me a chance to visit again. But I have to verify your names. The immigration officer I obtain the card from will need to be assured of your identities. May I see your driver’s license, Mr. Perry?”

“… Of course.” Malone pulled out his wallet and handed over the license.

Ramirez looked at the photograph of Malone that the Texas clerk had laminated onto the license. He read the name. “Dale Perry. An excellent likeness.” He put the license in his shirt pocket.

“Wait a minute. Why are you -”

“I need to keep this so I can present it as corroboration when I get the tourist card.”

“But -”

“It’s strictly a formality. I’ll return it as soon as possible. You weren’t planning to drive out of the area, were you?”

“No.”

“Then you won’t be needing it.”

15

“He wants me,” Sienna said.

“Yes.”

Numb, they watched Ramirez drive along the shore toward Santa Clara.

“He’ll run Dale Perry’s name through the computer to see if there’s anything he can use against me.” Sienna found it impossible to take her gaze from the receding Jeep. “To demand sex from me.”

“Yes.”

“By now, whoever Perry worked for knows his wallet is missing. Either my husband or Laster will have computer specialists checking for anybody who tries to use Perry’s credit cards or his Social Security number.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll soon have company.” As Ramirez’s Jeep disappeared into the heat haze, Sienna was finally released from staring at it. Her mouth was dry. “So what in God’s name are we going to do?”

“You said it earlier – leave.”

“But how? There’s only one road to the border. There’s a roadblock. Ramirez will have his men watching for us.”

Chase turned to the south toward the rocky bluff where the beach ended. “I wasn’t thinking of the road.”

“You want to go around that and walk to the next town?” She referred to Puerto Peñasco, a hundred miles to the south. “That would take days. In this heat, we might not make it. Besides, by then Ramirez would have figured out what we were doing. He’d have soldiers waiting when we got there.”

“I wasn’t thinking of walking.”

“Then…”

Chase stared toward the gulf.

With a tingle, she understood.

“When Fernando comes back from fishing, I’ll pay him to take us down to Puerto Peñasco,” Chase said. “We’ll be there in a couple of hours. Ramirez won’t have time to get back here by then and realize what we’re doing. We’ll find an American. A hard-luck story and a couple of hundred dollars ought to get us a ride to the States.”

“But what about Fernando? Ramirez will suspect he helped us. We’ll be putting Fernando in danger.”

“Not if Fernando claims I made him do it. In fact, I’ve got a better idea. We’ll pay him to let us have the boat. He’ll tell Ramirez we stole it and ask a friend to take him down to Puerto Peñasco to get it back.”

They studied each other.

“We don’t have a choice.” Sienna’s voice was unsteady.

“It’s going to be okay.” Chase held her. “By tonight, we’ll be back in the States. We’ll take a bus to Yuma, get our money out of the storage locker, and find another place as good as this.”

She held him tighter, wanting to believe him.

“There are other places at the edge of the earth,” Chase said. “By tonight, this will have been just another nightmare we put behind us.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t sound so low. I promise we’ll get out of this.” He kissed her, his affection flowing into her. “Come on, let’s hurry and pack so we’re ready when Fernando returns. We don’t want to waste time.”

Time, she thought.

16

They left most of their things, putting only essential toiletries and a change of clothes in their knapsacks. Sienna set them against the kitchen door. She couldn’t repress her wistful feelings as she peered back at the trailer. It had been their home.

They split the pesos they had remaining – sixteen thousand dollars’ worth. Sienna shoved some into the jeans she had put on in place of her shorts. She stuffed most of it into her knapsack. Chase stuffed his half into the front pockets of a khaki fisherman’s jacket that he had worn on the days he had gone out with Fernando on his boat.

“Any sign of him?” Sienna asked.

“Not yet.”

“It’s three o’clock. Isn’t he usually back by now?”

“Fernando says the early hours are best for fishing.”

“Then where is he?”

“Having a better day than we are. Relax. It won’t be long.”

But three o’clock became four, then five. As the sun began its descent, Sienna fidgeted. “Ramirez will be back here soon. Or someone from my husband, or -”

“Maybe Fernando had an accident.”

“If he doesn’t hurry, we’re going to have an accident.”

She kept staring toward the northern shore, expecting a military Jeep to appear.

Six o’clock. Seven. The sun hung lower.

Smoke made her glance toward Fernando’s trailer, where his wife prepared a meal in the charcoal pit. Afraid of the military, she had remained inside for a long time after Ramirez had left. When she finally came out, she had stopped her children from approaching the trailer and had cast suspicious glances toward it.

“She thinks we brought trouble,” Chase said.

“We’re about to bring more.”

“I hear an engine.”

A motorboat appeared, getting larger, Fernando working the rudder.

“Thank God,” Sienna said.

They ran to the beach as Fernando steered into shore. Chase waded in to help him, dragging the boat onto the sand. By now, Sienna had learned enough Spanish that she understood when Chase told him, “We were worried about you.”

But Fernando’s reply was too rapid, and she needed Chase to explain that Fernando had been delayed because of a meeting in Santa Clara with the company to which he sold his fish.

As Fernando set an anchor to keep the boat from floating away during high tide, he frowned toward his somber wife, who approached from the shelter. “What’s wrong?” he asked in Spanish.

Fernando frowned harder when his wife described the visit from the military. Fernando’s confusion became dismay when Chase explained that he and Sienna wanted to rent his boat, take it down to Puerto Peñasco, and leave it there for him to retrieve.

“No.” Fernando’s wife held up her hands.

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars,” Chase said.

“No!”

“Seven hundred.”

“No!”

The woman tugged Fernando toward their trailer.

“A thousand.”

It was probably more money than Fernando had ever seen at one time. He blurted something before his wife hustled him inside.

“He says he’ll try to talk to her,” Chase told Sienna.

“He’d better do more than try.” Sienna stared again toward the northern shore. Although the sunset was less brilliant, there was still enough light to see if any vehicles were coming. “If he doesn’t want to rent it to us, we’ll take the damned thing. I won’t spend the night here.”

“I’ll tempt them with more cash,” Malone said.

“Give it all to them. Just so we get out of here.”

They crossed the sand to the trailer. From outside, they heard Fernando and his wife arguing. When Chase knocked on the door, the wife shouted, “Go away!”

But Chase opened the door anyhow and stepped in, noticing the frightened looks of the children.

“Translate for me,” Sienna said.

She tried to explain how afraid she was that her husband would find her.

The wife put her hands over her ears.

“To hell with her,” Sienna said. “Distract them while I get the knapsacks and put them in the boat.”

She hurried outside. Clouds obscured the sunset as she ran to their trailer, yanked open the screen door, and reached for the knapsacks.

A hand shot from the shadows, grabbing her arm.

17

“Good evening, Mrs. Perry.”

Ramirez dragged her into the gloom of the trailer. As tight as his hand was on her arm, she felt a greater tightness in her throat, a sensation of being strangled.

“Or should I call you Mrs. Bellasar?”

“What are you talking about?” she managed to say, her voice hoarse.

Facing her, Ramirez twisted her arm behind her back. Making her wince, he drew her close to him. “You don’t need to be afraid. I haven’t told anybody about you.” He pressed her against him. “I did a computer search. I learned your real names. I learned that the CIA is looking for you. But don’t worry. I broke contact. Your secret is mine.” He put his other arm around her. “But what is the secret? Why is the CIA looking for you? What would you do to reward me for not reporting that I’d found you?”

He brought his mouth toward hers. She turned away and struggled. He redirected his mouth, trying to reach her lips. When she pulled her head back, he squeezed her tighter. She stomped on his boot.

He hit her.

For a moment, she saw blackness. Then he hit her again, and suddenly she was on the floor. Through blurred vision, she saw him reach back his boot to kick her, and for a frenzied moment, she thought he was Derek, that she was back in the hotel room in Istanbul, that Derek was kicking her and -

Something slammed. A figure rushed past. As her mind stopped spinning, she realized that the noise was the trailer’s door, that the figure was Chase, that he had collided with Ramirez and knocked him onto the kitchen table.

When the table collapsed, toppling them onto the floor, Sienna looked desperately around, hoping to find something she could use to hit Ramirez. In the gloom, Chase and Ramirez were indistinguishable, rolling one way, then another, striking each other. One of them groaned. Their breathing was forced. They struggled to their feet and slammed against the kitchen counter. A pot clattered into the sink. A dish smashed onto the floor.

Someone lurched back from a blow to the face and punched the other man’s stomach. The second man staggered back. At once the man straightened, his silhouette clear against the twilight at the kitchen window. He raised his right hand. Something was in it. A pistol. Ramirez. Sienna opened her mouth to shout a warning. Too late. The gunshot was deafening. Ears ringing, Sienna could barely hear herself scream.

The bullet shattered a window. Chase struggled with Ramirez’s gun arm, trying to wrench the weapon away as the pistol went off again, its muzzle flash almost blinding in the gloom. Her ears in greater pain, Sienna felt the bullet pass her, but all she cared about was squirming to the broken table and groping for one of its legs. The wide end had splintered, forming a spear tip. She plunged it into Ramirez’s back. He screamed. The two men lost their balance. The pistol went off a third time as they fell to the floor.

Sienna grabbed another table leg, raising it to bash it across Ramirez’s head, but away from the twilight at the window, she couldn’t tell which man was Ramirez.

“Chase, where are you?”

“Here!”

She slammed the club against Ramirez’s head so hard that the weapon split in half.

She picked up another table leg and struck him again, feeling something on his skull go soft, but he showed no reaction, remained motionless, seemed not to have felt it.

18

For long seconds, no one moved. The only sound was Malone’s labored breathing. He couldn’t stop his heart from racing.

“Is he dead?” Sienna struggled to get the words out.

“Yes.”

Hot bile rose in her throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think…” She wiped blood from her mouth. “I’m all right.” Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, a storm coming up the gulf.

Malone braced himself against the counter. “Why didn’t we hear his Jeep?”

“It isn’t outside. He must have parked on the beach and snuck up.”

The thunder rumbled louder.

They held each other.

“He called me Mrs. Bellasar.”

“Jesus.”

“He said he’d done a computer search.” Her shoulders heaved. “He knew that the CIA is looking for us.”

“If he put Dale Perry’s name into the computer, you can bet it set off alarms in the Agency. By now, whoever told your husband we were at that Virginia safe house has passed along the news. Your husband will be coming.” When thunder again rumbled, Malone stared toward the window. “We don’t have much time.”

“But what about…” Sickened, she peered down at the body. “We can’t just leave him. The Mexican police will connect him to us. The next thing, they’ll be after us, too.”

Malone strained to order his thoughts. “We’ll tie something heavy to the body and dump it in the gulf. His Jeep. We’ve got to find it. I’ll drive it to Santa Clara while you follow in the Explorer.” His mind raced. “We’ll make it seem like he parked on the edge of town. The storm and the tide will wipe out the tire tracks. If we’re careful not to leave fingerprints, the police won’t be able to prove we had anything to do with this.”

“But the shots…”

“We’re too far from town for anybody to have heard. Yes, Fernando must have, but he’s too afraid of the authorities to tell what he knows.” Ignoring how quickly Ramirez’s body was turning cold, Malone searched the pockets. He found car keys, but they weren’t enough. He needed Dale Perry’s driver’s license. Where was it? He had to find it. “There. Thank God.” He pulled the license from the corpse’s trouser pocket. “Hurry. Help me carry him to the boat before that storm comes any closer.”

He grabbed the corpse’s hands, started to lift, then realized that Sienna hadn’t moved.

Spurred by a new burst of thunder, she grabbed the corpse’s boots, shuddered, and lifted.

They lugged the body across the trailer. Malone was in the lead, backing toward the screen door. He nudged the door open with his hip. Then he got a better grip on the corpse and backed out, startled by a flash of lightning that revealed a look of terror on Sienna’s face.

But not because of Ramirez. Something was behind him.

He turned.

A blaze of lightning revealed Bellasar, Potter, and three bodyguards.

“You should have known I’d find you,” Bellasar said.

Sienna gasped.

“Taking out the garbage?” Bellasar asked.

Malone released the body and tried to straighten.

Not fast enough.

Potter slammed the barrel of a pistol across his forehead. “Let’s deal with this garbage first.”

19

Blood streaming down his face, Malone felt himself being lifted, two men carrying him into the darkness of the trailer. As if from a distance, he heard Bellasar demand something.

Sienna’s answer was a murmur. Malone was too dazed to know what it was. At the moment, what he was most aware of was the force with which he was slammed onto a chair.

More indistinct voices. Something flickered. At first, Malone thought it was the lightning outside, his impaired vision barely registering it. But a second flicker and a third spread across the trailer, the darkness dissipating until he realized that what he was seeing were candles that Bellasar had made Sienna take from a drawer. She lit a fourth and a fifth. The trailer glowed.

“More portraits.” Bellasar’s features were twisted. He rammed a fist through an image of Sienna’s face. “I’ve lost my enthusiasm for your work.” Cursing, he threw the ruptured portrait into a corner, the frame shattering as it bounced off the wall. He went over to Malone and punched his face so hard that the chair fell over, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Do you remember I warned you never to touch my wife?”

Malone was in too much pain to speak.

Thunder shook the trailer.

“Pick him up.”

Hands yanked Malone to his feet.

“Hold him steady.”

With pain-blurred vision, Malone saw Bellasar put on leather gloves.

“No!” Sienna shouted.

The blow to Malone’s stomach would have doubled him over if Bellasar’s men hadn’t been holding him so rigidly. The next blow was aimed toward his nose, the one after that to his stomach again. His mouth. His -

The last thing he heard, passing out, was Sienna screaming.

20

“You’re killing him!”

“That’s the point.” Derek drew back his fist again. Sienna broke loose from the man holding her and grabbed Derek’s arm before he could launch the blow. “I’m begging you!”

“You’ll beg me a lot more when your turn comes.”

“I don’t care what you do to me! Let him live! If you ever had any feelings for me -”

When Derek shoved her across the room, she banged against a small table, knocking a candle onto the floor.

Wind shook the trailer.

“That storm’s too close,” Potter said.

On the floor, the candle continued to burn.

Chase’s swollen face was covered with blood as Derek punched him again.

A few drops of rain pelted the metal roof.

“Get the car where we left it when we followed the Jeep,” Potter ordered a guard.

The candle’s flame spread to the carpet.

“Hurry,” Potter told the guard, “before the storm hits and you can’t find the car. I don’t want to be stuck here.”

The guard ran outside.

“Put out that fire,” Potter told another guard.

“No,” Derek said. “Let it burn. Let everything burn.”

As smoke rose from the burning carpet, Derek hit Chase one more time, frowned at his blood-covered glove, and gestured for the men to let him go.

Chase collapsed on the kitchen floor.

When Sienna tried to run to him, Derek grabbed her.

Lightning cracked. More drops of rain pelted the trailer.

“Sounds like it’s going to be bad,” a guard said.

The flames spread across the carpet, reaching the portraits.

“Take a last look at him,” Derek said, pulling her away.

Sienna shrieked. She couldn’t stop shrieking. She felt as if her vocal cords were going to burst, and still she wailed as the flames rose higher and Derek dragged her toward the door.

Headlights glaring, a large four-wheel-drive vehicle pulled up, its windshield wipers flicking away the rain. Derek yanked her outside with a force that jerked her gaze from Chase.

Thrown into the vehicle, she scrambled to look through the rear window toward flames bursting from the smoke. As the vehicle sped away, the trailer disappeared into the darkness and the rain. Only the flames remained. Then they, too, disappeared, obscured by the blur of her tears.